“Ancient, Lacey, yes. Yet something from that past, something from ten hundred years ago, looms ominously in the now, or rather, in the near future, in our near future—a prophecy of doom, it seems.”
Lacey’s eyes flew wide at this pronouncement, but before she could comment, Faeril plunged on. “This journal tells of a rede about to fall due, one that in some fashion may be related to Baron Stoke, though how one who was slain long ago can reach down through the centuries to clutch at the here and now…well, it’s beyond me.”
Faeril thumbed through the booklet until she found the entry she sought. “And look, here, a millennium past, it says that Lady Riatha came to the Weiunwood and told Tomlin and Petal of a prophecy made by Rael, Elfqueen of Arden Vale.”
* * *
May 29–31, 4E1980: Days of joy and despair, for Riatha came…And this is what she said…
Tomlin heard the horse coming up the path before it hove into view. He stood on the stoop and shaded his eyes against the afternoon Sun, watching the woodland way. His face broke into a great smile when a golden-haired Elfess clad in soft grey leather, sword in harness across her back, rode forth from the vault of the forest and into the glade.
He turned and called into the cottage, “Petal, it’s Riatha!”
There sounded a flurry of footsteps, and rushing out onto the porch came three dammen—Little Riatha and Silvereyes, followed by Petal—all aproned, with a touch of flour upon Silvereyes’ cheek and Little Riatha’s fingers stained with berry juice.
Petal came and stood at Tomlin’s side. “Can it be…?”
Tomlin put an arm about his dammia’s shoulders. “Stoke? I think not, Petal, for we both saw him borne down into the depths of the ice.”
Petal cast a timorous smile at her buccaran, and the stood side by side with an arm about one another as Riatha came across the clearing.
Tomlin and Petal’s dammsels, Silvereyes and Little Riatha—or as they were diminutively called, Silvey and Atha—stood beside their parents, watching the Elfess draw near their eyes dancing with anticipation. They had never before met Riatha, though they had known of her all their live.
And the sword-bearing Elfess rode her moon-dappled grey to the wee cottage and dismounted.
Petal rushed forward and Riatha knelt to embrace her and then Tomlin. And after but slight hesitation, Silvey and Atha stepped forward and were introduced.
Tomlin started to take up the reins of Riatha’s mount, preparing to stable the steed, but the Elfess stopped him, calling him by his old nickname. “I will care for Beam, Pebble. Thou shouldst gather the rest of thy brood, for I have words of portent affecting all.”
Tomlin’s heart lurched, and he glanced at Petal and knew that her heart pounded, too.
Tomlin saddled his pony and rode to the fields. When he returned, the duskingtide was upon the land, and his two buccoes. Small Urus and Bear, were with him. Lantern light illuminated the porch, where supper was to be taken, for the cottage ceilings were too low for the Elven guest, and the Warrows would not have her stoop.
And so all gathered in the Maytime eve and took their meal and spoke of small things, of inconsequential things, while crickets sang in the grass. And at the end, Silvey and Atha served hot tea and huckleberry pie, as the night deepened.
A period of silence fell upon family and guest alike and stretched thin, while stars wheeled overhead.
At last, as if impelled by the same thought, Tomlin and Petal simultaneously said, “Riatha—”
—and the silence was broken.
Glancing at one another, Tomlin nodded to Petal.
The damman spoke: “Riatha, about these words of portent, these words affecting all—all my family—what…?” Her words tailed off, her unspoken question hanging in the still air of the Weiunwood night.
The grey-eyed Elfess looked into the face of each Waerling, seeing a resolute set of features before her, great jewel-like eyes glittering in the lamplight. “I come to tell ye of the words of Rael, Lady of Arden Vale, Consort to Talarin, my distant cousin, for she has the power at times to foresee.
“And she has done so.
“In truth, she has spoken of two separate destinies, both of which I would have ye hear:
“The first of her visions shows a darkness gathering in the north, and it will one day come sweeping forth across the land. There her vision ends. What it portends—War, pestilence, famine, plague—she cannot say. It will not come for some years. Even so, it is a dire enough portent that I would have ye remove to a safer haven—away from the Weiunwood, mayhap to the south, or to the protected Land of the Seven Dells.
“The second of her visions speaks of yet another destiny vaguely sensed in the distant winds of time, a destiny far beyond—a destiny Rael deems is for me, and I ween affects thee and thine, Petal…thee and thine, Pebble.”
Tomlin felt his heart hammering for the second time that day, and he felt, too, the irrational urge to gather his brood behind him, and to take up sling and silver bullets, for Petal to take up silver throwing knives, and for his buccoes and dammsels to arm themselves as well.
And an image of Baron Stoke rose monstrously in his thoughts.
“Stoke,” he gritted, rage filling his breast, displacing fear.
The children looked with wide eyes at their sire, for well they knew of the pursuit of Baron Stoke. Twenty years they sought the monster, had Riatha and Urus and Tomlin and Petal. And the four companions had at last run Stoke down, some ten years past, there at the North Glacier. Aye, the children knew of the pursuit and its devastating conclusion, with Urus and Stoke plunging unto their death in the depths of an icy crevasse, a crevasse that slammed shut behind.
How could they not know? For in one way or another, all the children had been named after Urus or Riatha. And on many a long winter night in yesteryears, Tomlin or Petal had spoken of those bygone days, had told their buccoes and dammsels of the deeds of their namesakes, and of the monster they pursued.
And now their sire had named the fiend again: “Stoke.”
“Mayhap, Pebble. Mayhap,” replied Riatha, glancing at her sword, hanging in harness from a porch rail newel post.
“A destiny?” blurted out Bear, the youngest. “This Lady Rael, she foresaw a destiny affecting us? A destiny far beyond?”
Riatha turned her silvery eyes upon the stripling. “Aye, Bear, a prophecy.”
Now Atha spoke: “What—what did she say, this Lady Rael?”
Riatha looked at her namesake, the Waerling no bigger than an Elfchild, though no Elfchild was she. Even so, Waerlinga resembled Elfchildren in all respects…but for the eyes, for those of the Wee Folk were large and jewel-like, holding deep glints carried by no child of Elvenkind.
Nevertheless, Riatha looked upon these Waerlinga and wondered if it was this resemblance between them and the children of Elvenkind that caused these Folk to be so beloved by her own kindred. For children of Elves had not set foot on Mithgar for more than four thousand years, since the Sundering during the Great War, since the last Dawn Ride, and this filled Riatha’s breast with a great sadness. Here on Mithgar, no Elfchild could be conceived, none could be born; only upon Adonar was this possible for Elvenkind. And although the Twilight Ride would bear an Elf out of Mithgar and unto Adonar, the way back into this world was sundered. Hence to leave Mithgar was perhaps to leave it forever, for only at the end, in the last days, was it said that the Dawn Ride would be restored. Even then it was not certain whether the way would be open for any and all to come once more to Mithgar, or open for but a single rider, a rider of impossibility, a rider bearing the Silver Sword.
Regardless, there was now no way for any to come from Adonar unto this Plane, and so, Elfchildren were no longer seen upon Mithgar. And the Waerlinga were a poignant reminder of what had been lost.
Riatha shook her head to clear her mind of these fey thoughts as Atha spoke again, the young damman rephrasing her as-yet-to-be-answered question: “What did Lady Rael say in this prophecy
of hers, Lady Riatha?”
One by one, Riatha again looked into the faces of each, faces reflecting curiosity and concern but not fear. “We were sitting in Arden on the banks of the Tumble, Rael and I, playing at scrying through crystals. Of a sudden Rael looked at me, or rather, through me, for her eyes were focused elsewhere…beyond. And she spoke a rede, for they come at their own time and not at will. Even so, it seemed that her words were aimed at me and none else. And this is what she said:
“When Spring comes upon the land,
Yet Winter grips with icy hand,
And the Eye of the Hunter stalks night skies,
Bane and blessing alike will rise.
Lastborn Firstborns of those who were there,
Stand at thy side in the light of the Bear.
Hunter and hunted, who can say
Which is which on a given day?”
“Ooo,” whispered Silvey, glancing about, peering into the darkness beyond the lantern light as if to see what danger approached, “what do you suppose it means?”
None said aught for a while, each pondering the words of the rede. At last Small Urus, eldest bucco, sitting down upon a porch step, looked up at his sister, Little Riatha, eldest dammsel. “If, as Dad suspects, it refers to Baron Stoke, then I think it speaks of you and me, Atha, for we are the firstborn bucco and firstborn dammsel of those who were there.” He pointed his chin first at his sire and then at his dam.
Fear sprang up behind Petal’s eyes—not for herself, oh no, but instead for her children. She reached out to Tomlin and took his hand in hers.
But the Elfess shook her head. “Nay, Small Urus. Thy guess concerning the firstborns is a shrewd one, yet except for me, I think it speaks of no one here…at least, not directly.”
The young buccan swept his hand in a wide gesture, taking in all the Warrows. “If not us, if not Atha and me, if not Silvey or Bear, if not my sire and dam, then who?”
The Elfess smiled down at the Waerling. “List, Small Urus, it is truly a destiny far beyond, for the Eye of the Hunter will not ride the skies above for another thousand winters—one thousand and twenty-seven winters, to be exact—”
Bear blurted out, “One thousand and twenty-seven years? Why, this is 4E1980, and that’d be in the year”—he did a quick sum in his head—“4E3007…yes, 4E3007. A very long time hence. B-but here, now! None of us will even be alive then.”
Petal looked at the Elfess. “Riatha will, Bear. Riatha will.”
And now all the Warrow children looked at the Elfess and realized for the very first time that she was not a mortal.
Riatha shrugged off their stares. “And so will thy descendants be alive, thine Small Urus, and thine Little Riatha the firstborns of the firstborns, or so the rede prophesies.
“This Huntra Eäg,” asked Tomlin, naming it in Twyll, the eld Warrow tongue, “this Eye of the Hunter, just what is it?”
“That I do know, Pebble,” answered Riatha. “It is a harbinger, one of the hairy stars, coursing across the sky, bringing its dooms with it. Thousands of winters pass between its comings, yet always it returns, each time riding through those nights at the fading of winter, at the onset of spring; and always it first appears among the stars we name the Hunter, as the Hunter’s eye, red and bloody.”
Silvey’s mouth had formed a silent O as the Elfess spoke. And she snapped it shut when Riatha fell quiet, the audible click causing all to turn and look at her, and she felt as if somehow she had made a mistake. But Atha saved her from further embarrassment, turning once more to the Elfess and asking, “The prophecy also speaks of Lastborn Firstborns—what does that mean?”
“And what is the light of the Bear?” chimed in Bear, the stripling’s eyes glittering in the lantern light. “The prophecy speaks of that, too.”
“And bane and blessing,” added Silvey. “What about that?”
Tomlin cleared his throat. “Well, at least we know what the Hunter or hunted part of the rede means.”
“What?” asked Bear. “What does it mean?”
“Just this, Bear,” responded Tomlin. “When we sought to slay Stoke, he in turn tried to kill us, putting truth to the old saying concerning the hunting of dangerous animals, and it echoes perfectly the words of the prophecy:
“Deadly predator,
Deadly prey,
Hunter and hunted,
Who can say
Which is which
On a given day?
“And so shall it be once more should that monster rise again. For if he is hunted, then he in turn will hunt those who hunt him.”
A silence fell over them all, broken at last by Silvey. “But who is to say that this rede has anything to do with that monster? I mean, it could concern something or someone else entirely. What is in the prophecy that points to Stoke at all?”
All eyes turned to Riatha. “’Tis the light of the Bear, wee one.” At the looks of incomprehension upon faces of all the Waerlinga, Riatha explained. “There where Urus fell, deep down within the ice, there is a golden glow. Why? I know not. Yet it is there, far below—an unexplained light, calling. And this I do know, Silvereyes, and so do thy parents: Urus at times took the shape of a Bear….”
* * *
May 29–31, 4E1980: Days of joy and despair, for Riatha came…And this is what she said…
* * *
And in a glade in the Boskydells a millennium later, two dammen sat at picnic, there in the early summer Sun. And one had a secret to give the other…
“…and so it was that Riatha brought the news to my ancestors, Lacey,” said Faeril, looking up from the diary.
“After the Elfess left, Tomlin and Petal moved from the Weiunwood, coming here to the Seven Dells and bringing their brood, for Riatha had warned them that a great darkness was gathering in the north, and she would have them move to a place of safety.
“They came here to have the protection of the Thornring, surrounding the Land as it does. But little did they know that the Spindlethorn would be breached during the Winter War.
“Hai! As it turned out, the Weiunwood was the safer place to be after all. Even so, they all survived—Petal, Tomlin, Small Urus, Little Riatha, Silvereyes, and Bear—though many others did not.
“The Winter War: that was what the Elfqueen Rael had seen as a great darkness gathering in the north, that was the threat which crashed upon the world back then: Modru sought to conquer the world, and he used the Dimmendark as his greatest weapon.”
“Tuckerby Underbank!” exclaimed Lacey, naming the great hero of the Winter War. “He saved all.” A frown came upon her face. “But what’s that got to do with anything, Faeril?”
Faeril smiled at her companion. “Just this: Years past, Tomlin and Petal made a pledge to run Stoke to earth and to slay him, foul creature that he was. That pledge was renewed by Small Urus and Little Riatha, the firstborn bucco and dammsel. And they had trained in the weapon skills of their parents: sling and bullets for the buccoes and”—Faeril hefted the bandoliers—“throwing knives for the dammsels.
“Eventually Small Urus married, and so, too, did Little Riatha. And their firstborns in turn renewed the pledge and took up the weaponry skills: slings for the buccoes of Small Urus, knives for the dammsels of Little Riatha.
“Some thirty or so generations have been born since that long-ago time, and the descendants of Tomlin and Petal are scattered to the winds, moving elsewhere, marrying, having children; each generation in turn scattering farther, marrying, having children, who in turn scattered, down through time…
“But although firstborn damman after firstborn damman has been born, still all renewed the pledge, all were trained in the skill of throwing knives…just as the firstborn buccoes of firstborn buccoes were perhaps trained in the sling.
“Too, Petal had written a journal, a record of the pursuit of Stoke. It became a tradition for the firstborns to copy that record, just as I copied the one made by my dam, and she hers, and so on back to the time of Petal herself.”
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Again Faeril picked up the small booklet. “This is my copy, Lacey, made from the original journal, from Petal’s journal, now in my dam’s possession, the original that I will inherit when my own firstborn damman arrives.
“But I’ve known all along that I’ve something to accomplish before that time comes. I knew it even before I began training in the knives, even before I renewed the pledge, even before I began making my copy of the diary. It seems as if I’ve always known that Destiny has something in store for me.”
Faeril fell silent, and in the distance a mourning dove called, and Lacey felt her heart clench with sadness. “But what’s this got to do with you leaving, Faeril…with your going away from the Bosky?”
Faeril took up the journal and flipped it open to a particular page. “Don’t you see, Lacey? Here. Petal wrote that in 4E1980 Bear ciphered that the Eye of the Hunter would come in 4E3007.”
“Bu-but, that year will never come!” responded Lacey. “I mean, it’s impossible! We didn’t even have a year 4E3007. It never came. It never will. For we now stand at 5E985, and the Fourth Era is past, over, done.”
Faeril smiled at Lacey’s remark. “Oh, Lacey, think a moment: Bear didn’t know about the Winter War when he cast that sum, for that was a calamity yet to come in his time, some thirty-eight and thirty-nine years later. I mean, the Winter War ended the Fourth Era. And in 4E1980 Bear couldn’t know the future, couldn’t know that the High King would declare that Modru’s defeat signalled the beginning of the Fifth Era.”
Lacey looked at Faeril blankly. “So…?”
“So, Lacey, there was nothing wrong with Bear’s reckoning. He was right. The Eye of the Hunter was indeed due in 4E3007, and that year on the old calendar is the same as 5E988 on the new. The Eye of the Hunter is coming in 5E988—three years hence.”
Lacey nodded slowly. “All right, I see that…. But, then, what’s that got to do with you, Faeril?”
“Don’t you see, Lacey, if the Eye of the Hunter will be here in three years—well, now slightly less than three years—then that means I am the lastborn of the firstborns.”
The Eye of the Hunter Page 3